Former boxer 50 Cent already has a bloody history, having been stabbed in his studio in 2000 and shortly afterwards shot nine times while sitting in a parked car.
There's no sense of community on this unapologetic throwback to straight-assed songs about guns, girls and drugs which has already sold nearly a million copies in America.
Musically, the standout is the Dr Dre-produced "In Da Club," which, with its grim, joyless concentration on pleasure echoed by the death knell of its orchestral sample, could be the converse of Nelly's anthemic "Hot In Herre".
His macho
Philip Glass at his most minimal, repetitive, and inexplicably, magically, affecting. Apparently, Michael Nyman wrote a score for this, too, and was sore when Glass won that particular clash of the titans. Which, you have to concede, has a touch more aesthetic loftiness about it than "Ugly Noel tells someone to fuck off". It's lovely, though if we're candid, not as lovely as we were hoping. Many reviews of the film decried the music as over-insistent, which is akin to describing George Bush as a genius.
Imagine you're combing the racks of your favourite cool record store, one of those sub-High Fidelity dives with a coupla snooty geeks behind the counter and some Sun Ra covers on the wall. You're flipping through the '80s Hardcore section, looking for an ancient Millions Of Dead Cops LP, swimming in Raymond Pettibon graphics, when all of a sudden... What's this? The Finger's We Are Fuck You/Punk's Dead Let's Fuck? Who? What? Musta come from some boondock town in one of the "vowel states"—Ohio or Iowa.
